


All I'll Ever Need

by cat_scratch_club



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:09:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_scratch_club/pseuds/cat_scratch_club
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the disappearance of the world's only consulting detective, John Watson thinks he sees Sherlock in the busy streets of London. But could it truly be him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: The Reunion

John tucked the scarf closer to him as he walked quickly down the street. He didn't wear it often, because he wanted to preserve the faint smell of tobacco and tea that clung to it- a reminder of days long gone. But today was special. Today was different. 

He glanced at his watch. Quarter to three. Good. He would have just enough time to visit Sherlock's grave before it was time for his dinner with Mary. She didn't know what today was, what it meant, because John hadn't told her. How could he explain to her that today was the three-year anniversary of that day? How could he describe the way the burning embers that had resided for so long in his chest turned into a roaring fire when he thought of the pool of blood that had stained the pavement, matting Sherlock's dark curls? 

John pushed that thought from his mind, looking up as he angrily wiped a tear from his eye. Though it was cold, the sun shone so brightly in the clear blue sky that he had to squint to look for a cab. Just then, his eye caught on a man walking quickly in the other direction. The way his blue eyes gleamed, the way he strode so confidently- it reminded him of Sherlock. Scratch that- it had to be Sherlock. No one else had that gliding, fast gait, or that particular way of flipping their hair. John furrowed his brows, looking closer. He turned away from the street, his feet carrying him toward the man.

His therapist said these hallucinations would stop.

Apparently, she was wrong.

His heart twisted as he picked up speed, staying a safe distance behind the man as he rounded a corner. This alley was sparsely populated, and John was sure the man would hear him and turn around. It wouldn't matter, anyway. This stranger might look eerily similar to Sherlock, but it couldn't be him. John would just apologize for the misunderstanding and make his way to the cemetery to visit his dead friend. 

He's dead, John reminded himself. That word- dead- rattled around in his skull. My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead. He repeated it like a mantra, murmuring it under his breath. In his heart he knew it was true- he had seen the blood on the ground, felt Sherlock's cold, pulse-less wrist, attended the funeral- but his feet had a different idea. They followed the man further down the alley.

Then, John stopped. The man stood still, his hair falling in his face as he turned around. A deep, gravelly voice John knew only too well rang out over the din of a busy London day.

“John.”

John drew a sharp breath as Sherlock faced him. His face was hard, the lines a little more defined, the eyes a little more cold. But he was alive. There, in front of him, living, breathing, alive. 

“Sherlock,” John breathed. Both men were still for a moment, but John quickly bridged the distance between them. He embraced Sherlock, squeezing him tightly.

“I told them you were still alive. They didn't believe me, but I knew. I knew,” John whispered, as Sherlock wrapped his long arms around him. 

Sherlock still hadn't said anything. John pulled away suddenly, his face contorted with rage. “You GIT!” he roared. “Three years! THREE GOD DAMNED YEARS, SHERLOCK! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

Sherlock recoiled a bit, his cheeks reddening. “I'm sorry, John. It had to be done.”

John pounded his fist against Sherlock's chest, tears now streaming freely down his face. “It had to be done? What do you mean it had to be done?”

Sherlock sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn't see me. I was hoping you would forget me, allow me to fade from your life. It would be so much easier that way....” He stared at the concrete.

John flung his arms up. “FORGET YOU?” he stormed. “How could I forget you? You were the best damn thing that ever happened to me!”

It was Sherlock's turn to blush. He pursed his lips together as John searched his face. Sherlock's voice was small when he replied. “You really mean that?”

John let out a small sigh. “Of course I do! Why did you leave me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock's expression was pained. “I had to. Moriarty...he was going to kill you if I didn't jump.” 

John's eyes widened as he took in this information. “You did it for me?”

Sherlock nodded sheepishly. “I'm sorry for any...er...emotional distress it may have caused.” 

John was still dumbfounded. His mouth moved, but no words could be formed. All this hatred he had for Sherlock, all this resentment he felt for being left behind- and the whole thing had been done to save him. He stared at Sherlock, questions pounding in his skull.

“B-but...you were dead. I saw you. You were dead. How can you be...?”

Sherlock smiled, clearly ready to describe to John the intricate details of his faked death. He grabbed John's hand, glancing at the scarf wrapped around John's neck. “Not here,” he said, walking back toward the street. 

John followed Sherlock. 

He had so many questions. And now, he would have time to ask them all.

“Sherlock?” John said, as his companion hailed a cab.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock replied.

“I'm glad you're back.”


	2. Chapter Two: Picking up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have reunited. But there is one small problem; John is engaged to Mary.

The two men were back in the flat. John was bewildered. He clutched his cup of hot tea as he stared at Sherlock. “Wow. So you really stopped your pulse with...”

“Yes, with the ball. I was trying to tell you, John. I was trying to make you hate me so it wouldn't be as hard for you once I was gone.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I hated you all right. But not because I thought you were a fraud. I always believed in you, you must know that...” He cleared his throat, looking up. “I hated you for leaving me behind. I never got the chance to tell you all that I wanted to say.”

Sherlock grimaced. “I regret it, John. I wish it could have gone another way. But I had to do it, to protect you. I'm sorry.”

John smiled faintly. “I appreciate it, Sherlock, I really do.” Both of them were quiet for a moment, and John cleared his throat. “It's getting late. I have a date with Mary tonight...”

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. “Who's Mary?” he asked, trying to regulate his rapid heartbeat. 

John hesitated for a moment. “She's...my fiancee.” 

Sherlock let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh.”

John was angry now. “What? Are you still doing that?”

“Doing what?” Sherlock asked innocently, his eyes shifting.

“Getting all upset when I have a girlfriend. You were gone for three years, Sherlock. I had to move on with my life. I had to pick up the pieces, somehow. You broke me. Losing you tore me apart. I'm a pieced together replica of the person I used to be, and I'll never be the same again. But Mary helped me, Sherlock. She helped me pick myself up. And I love her. You don't get to push her aside because I moved on with my life while you were gone.”

Sherlock stood up, setting down his tea. “You think it wasn't hard for me, too? Not being able to be with you? Seeing you so hurt?” At this John looked shocked. “Yes, I saw you. I monitored you. Had to make sure you didn't do anything stupid, you see. I saw you go on without me. I saw you smile, and laugh, and love, and I wasn't around to do it with you. You think that was easy for me? It wasn't, John. I didn't understand those feelings, John. I didn't understand what it was like to love someone so wholeheartedly that losing them felt like losing yourself. But then I lost you. And it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. So don't sit here and lecture me about being angry that you're with someone else, John, because I'm in love with you.”

John sat back, his mind reeling. Sherlock touched his lips lightly, seemingly trying to figure out how he had let those five words slip out from them. 

“You're...in love with me?” John asked quietly, as Sherlock shifted uneasily in his seat. 

“It's nothing. It's not important. Forget I said anything,” Sherlock muttered, blushing furiously. 

John's hands fluttered nervously as he sat down next to Sherlock. “Sherlock, I love you too.”  
Sherlock's neck snapped up. “Really? Even after...everything I did?”

John nodded. “Of course, Sherlock. After all, you did it for me. I never stopped believing in you. Not for a second. My heart broke, of course, and I was lost without you. But I never stopped loving you.” His voice fell. “I never knew how to tell you, before. I didn't have the words.”

The edges of Sherlock's mouth turned up as he crossed the room. “You don't need words,” he murmured, pressing his lips to John's. For a moment that seemed to last forever, they stayed like that; two planets in orbit of one another, spinning uncontrollably and without regard for the rest of the universe. But, like all good things, it came to an end.

John pulled back, his eyelids fluttering, his hand on Sherlock's beating heart. God, it felt so good- to feel Sherlock's chest rising slightly as he inhaled, to experience the way the detective's heart sped up when they kissed. But John pushed those intoxicating thoughts away. “Sherlock, I can't. I'm engaged to Mary, now.” He glanced at the clock. He was meant to meet with her in just half an hour, actually.

Sherlock's face fell just a little, but his bright eyes maintained their gleam. “I want you, John. I know it isn't fair for me to ask this of you. I know I don't deserve you, after I left for so long. But I want you,” he said huskily, his breath hot against John's ear.

John stifled a small moan, leaning into Sherlock's warm body. It felt right. And, after all, it had been three years. How long had he wanted this? He looked up, and in Sherlock's eyes he saw pure, unadultered affection. 

John pulled away, picked up the clock on the coffee table, and chucked it into the trash can. There would be no time-keeping tonight. He cleared his mental schedule, and without another word, returned to Sherlock's embrace.

John could feel Sherlock's smile throught their parted lips. 

“I'm all yours, Sherlock,” he breathed.

“Good, John. Because you're all I'll ever need.”


End file.
